the luckiest
by all-delightedpeople
Summary: a series of unrelated finn/rachel drabbles. multiple POVs.
1. write about love

Finn watches Quinn wade through black-clad crowd in the parking lot with a pang he can't quite explain, the door of his truck still reverberating from her abrupt exit. He thinks that for a dude who's been in as many tumultuous relationships as he has, he still knows jack-shit about love. I mean, even after being with Quinn (twice), Rachel, and Brittany and Santana (if you count that night at Breadstix or his ill-fated motel tryst – and, well, Finn doesn't_ want_ those to count), he feels woefully ignorant about all the like…nuances of the term. Maybe that's why Quinn's taking this whole break-up thing so badly, especially since he told her still loves her and all. He probably didn't explain it very well – I mean, how can he, when he hardly understands it himself?

It's not like he was planning to say that to her – hell, he wasn't even planning to break up with Quinn until halfway through Sue's eulogy – but he's not like, sorry he said it either. 'Cause it's true…isn't it? He does love Quinn. Just not in the way he should. Not enough. Finn thinks that maybe he loves, like, the idea of Quinn, more than Quinn herself. She was his first love, after all, and once upon a time he thought she was gonna be the mother of his child. And yeah, maybe he shouldn't still love her after all this time, since she did him wrong like that, but it's not like he was the model boyfriend either, you know? Spending so much time hovering around Rachel; kissing her…in the auditorium, in the bowling alley, like a million and a half times in his head. He thinks that his love for Quinn is sort of abstract and fuzzy around the edges and touched with color of obligation – but it does move him, it doesn't shake him, it doesn't make him want to stay.

And Finn thinks that maybe it's okay – this sort of unconventional, hard to define love. 'Cause if he's being honest, he's got a lot of it in his life. Take Burt, for example, whom he loves with a fierceness tempered by caution, by a fear that only a fatherless son can understand; or Kurt, whom he's come to love like a brother, even if the edges of that love are tinged with guilt and remorse and ugly words he can never unsay. Hell, even the way he loves Puck makes like zero sense. I mean, the dude's broken up the only two serious relationships that Finn's ever had, and he's got a shit attitude to boot, but still Finn loves him with the loyalty of friendships forged on nursery school playgrounds and homes that aren't whole.

And then there's Rachel. A paradox of epic proportions. Finn thinks his love for her is like, the most obvious, but also the hardest to explain. He doesn't know why he loves Rachel, or even how – it's just like…he doesn't know how to not love her, even if he tries. And God knows he's tried. It's like she's a part of him, or something; like he can get rid of her just as soon as he can toss out his lungs and liver. Even now, just catching a glimpse of her across the parking lot rocks him with an intense visceral reaction, like a warmth, like he can feel her from the inside out. He can't even pretend that he doesn't love her 'cause what his brain fails to admit his stomach can't deny.

Besides, Finn's not sure he wants to pretend anymore.

Maybe he never really did in the first place.


	2. don't you worry we'll all float on

"You're kidding me" Finn says, his voice quavering a little and betraying the laugh he's so desperately trying to suppress.

Rachel pouts, kicking forlornly at a wayward stone with her sandal. "You promised you wouldn't make fun of me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he tells her. "But…you really don't know how to swim?"

"No, I made the whole thing up because I have some sort of masochistic desire to humiliate myself in front of my boyfriend."

Finn's brow wrinkles with the effort to puzzle out her sarcasm. "So you do know how to swim?"

She exhales slowly through her nose. "No, Finn, I do not know how to swim."

"Oh," he says, nodding. "Right. And you didn't think it would be a good idea to tell me, y'know, _before_ we drove all the way out to the lake?"

"I…forgot?" Rachel tries, fixing him with her most winning smile. "But, you know, it's fine! I have a contingency plan – you can swim, and I'll just sunbathe right here on the dock. I brought a book specifically for this occasion; it's an autobiography of Judy Garland. I'm not sure if you're aware but she led a very scandalous life."

"No way," Finn says, "you're not getting out of this one that easy."

Rachel blinks up at him. "Pardon?"

"You're not leaving here today until you know how to swim!"

She crosses her arms. "You can't possibly be serious!"

"Why not?"

"Because you're not a certified lifeguard!" Rachel splutters, waving her arms about wildly to illustrate her point. "What if something goes terribly wrong! What if I drown!"

Finn frowns slightly. "Don't you trust me?"

She leans forward to squeeze his hand encouragingly. "Of course I trust you!"

"Then let me teach you how to swim!" he pleads, giving her his most convincing puppy dog – even trembling his lip a little, for good measure.

"Fine," Rachel sighs, "but if I die, my dads are going to kill you!"

"Got it," Finn says. "Now first things first: we're going to jump into the lake!"

She quirks a dubious eyebrow at him. "Doesn't that seem a bit…too much, too soon?"

"Nonsense. I'll go first, and then when you jump I'll catch you!"

"Finn, I really don't think that this a logical id – " Rachel begins, but she's interrupted with a splash as Finn crashes into the surface of the water with a perfectly executed swan dive.

He surfaces a moment later, shaking the water from his shaggy head like an overexcited dog.

"You got me all wet," she complains, plucking at the fabric of her now-drenched cover-up.

Finn grins. "Not like it's the first time!"

Rachel feels her face heat up and stomps across the wooden planks until she's teetering dangerously on the edge. "Finn Christopher Hudson, I ought to smack you into next Tuesday for that vulgar remark!"

"Well, you're not going to get very far standing all the way up there," he sings, sticking a childish tongue out at her.

"Fine," she says, teeth gritted, and begins to slowly and deliberately peel off her outer layers until she stands only in her bathing suit. "I guess I'll have to come in there, then!"

So she jumps, thinking that even if she drowns, it'll be worth it just to spite him – but Finn manages to work his arms around her middle before her feet even touch the surface, keeping a slippery hold on her even as the lake erupts into a splash around them.

"You did it, babe!" Finn laughs, crushing her to his chest in a hug, and suddenly Rachel forgets all about being mad at him.

She remembers, however, the not-knowing-how-to-swim bit, and feels a bubble of panic rising in her throat.

"Oh my god!" Rachel shouts, clinging vise-like to Finn's shoulders, "I don't know how to swim! I'm in a lake and I don't know how to swim! Oh my _god_!"

"Shhhh, shhh it's gonna be fine!" he assures her. "But if you're really that worried about drowning, you should probably stop wiggling so much."

She stills immediately, peering up at him with wide, worried eyes.

"There we go," Finn says, smiling. "Now, just keep holding on, and I'll bring us over to the shallows where, believe it or not, even a shrimp like you can stand with their head above the water."

"I resent that" Rachel sniffs.

When he finally floats them out of deeper water, Finn instructs Rachel to detangle her legs from around his waist. She complies, carefully, sliding a bit when she attempts to stand up, her feet ungainly on the slippery rocks.

"Now what?" Rachel asks, a little uncertainly.

"Now we're going to practice arm movements!" Finn informs her brightly. "Just copy me, alright? I'll go slowly. We're just gonna do a really simple stroke – like, the one they teach all the little kids when they still have to wear swimmies. Anyway, you cup your hands a little, like this, and then pull them through the water like you're digging for something. You know, like a dog. That's why they call it the doggy paddle."

Rachel watches him closely for a few moments before echoing his movements – slowly, cautiously, and with the utmost precision.

"Am I doing it right?" she asks quietly, feeling strange (as she often does) when she encounters something at which she doesn't immediately excel.

"You're doing great!" he says proudly. "D'you think you're ready to practice kicking?"

"Depends – can I practice on you?"

"Ha, ha," Finn says. "Okay – the way we're gonna do this is you're gonna try to float on your stomach – don't worry! I'll hold you around the waist to make sure you don't sink! – and then just kick your legs in the water. Alright? It's easy peasy, c'mon. You're Rachel Berry! You're not afraid of a little lake!"

"I'm Rachel Berry," she repeats, maneuvering herself into the correct position. "You better believe it!"

"Damn straight!" he affirms, and Rachel begins to kick vigorously, churning up a shower of foamy water behind her.

Finn sets her down after a minute or so, practically beaming. "Okay, do you think you're ready to put it together now?"

She bites her lip, hesitating. "Put it together?"

"Yeah, you know, put it together! Swim! I promise I'll hold onto you again; I won't let go. I'd _never_ let anything bad happen to you, Rach. Not in a million years."

Feeling her eyes teem with sudden, inexplicable tears, Rachel nods her head slowly. "Okay. I'm ready."

So Finn places his hands gingerly on either side of her waist as she floats up onto her stomach and takes her first clumsy, stuttering strokes. Lucky for the both of them, Rachel's caution is matched by Finn's patience, and after several minutes she's swimming in slow circles (though still propped up by his strong grip).

"I think – I think I'm ready for you to let go, now," Rachel says finally, and feels Finn's hands slip a little, surprised.

"Are you sure? There's no rush!"

"I'm sure," she tells him firmly, "I've got to lose the training wheels, eventually, haven't I? And before you ask – _yes_, I do know how to ride a bike!"

Finn laughs a little, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "Alright, then, I'm letting go! In three….two…one…"

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, steeling herself, expecting her mouth and nose to immediately fill with water. She snaps them open in surprise when nothing happens to find herself continuing in the same path – only without Finn guiding her along.

"I'm doing it, aren't I?" she calls out to him, her voice shining with glee. "I'm really doing it! I'm swimming!"

"You bet your cute little ass you are!" Finn replies, making his way towards her.

Rachel swims a few lazy laps before planting her feet back on solid ground and leaning up to encircle Finn with her slender arms. "Thank you, Finn," she says earnestly, kissing him quickly on the lips. "You made a possibly life-threatening situation much less traumatizing than it could have been!"

"I told you I could do it," he replies, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. "And you doubted me!"

"Yes, yes, and you were right," Rachel concedes, "but when our children learn to swim, they're going to do it the proper way, at the YMCA, with lifeguards and everything!"

She flushes scarlet when she realizes the gravity of the words and their implication, sinking a bit so that her chin dips into the lake in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

Finn, to his credit, doesn't miss a beat. "I guess I can agree to that – but then, there's no way you're teaching them how to drive! I've seen you behind the wheel, woman, and you're a demon. It's a miracle there isn't more road kill in this town, I'm telling you!"

"That is slander!" Rachel squeals, but she smiles despite herself as her lungs constrict almost painfully with the love for the grinning boy before her.

He kisses her then, and they bob along the glimmering water in the quiet of that sunlit afternoon with the idea of their future floating alongside them - tangible, buoyed by their adolescent dreams.


	3. bioluminescence

Finn picks her up from the Snyders' on a Wednesday afternoon.

It's become sort of a tradition of theirs – Rachel babysits their daughter once a week, and Finn swings by to pick her up afterward for milkshakes at the Dairy Freeze. It's kind of the highlight of his day.

And this day is a day like any other; Rachel emerges from the house at 3:30 sharp, just as Finn pulls into the driveway. Punctual as always.

She climbs gingerly into his truck, clutching something blue and bulbous in her hand.

"Why're you carrying that blob of Play-Doh around, anyway?" he asks. "And…is that a Christmas light hanging out of the bottom of it?"

"For your information, Finn, this is a _bioluminescent jellyfish_," Rachel huffs, feigning disdain. "And _that blob_ has a name. It's Vicky – short for _Aequora Victoria_."

"I see," Finn says. "My apologies, then, Vicky. I hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot – er, tentacle, that is."

He taps her lightly on the malleable head, careful not to squish her out of place.

Rachel catches his hand and laughs, bringing it to her mouth for a kiss.

"Lily made it for me," she explains, tracing her initials on Finn's palm with an index finger.

He grins over at her. "I figured as much. Something tells me your own Play-Doh skills are probably, like, a little more advanced."

"Apparently in kindergarten I used to reduce the other children to tears during arts and crafts time," Rachel teases, flipping her hair for emphasis.

"I don't doubt it, Rach," Finn says earnestly. "There's like, nothing you aren't good at it."

She buries her face in his shoulder, a hot blush skimming across her cheeks, and he takes one hand off the wheel to ruffle her downy hair.

"So, Lily's really into jellyfish these days?"

"_Bioluminescent _jellyfish," Rachel corrects, her voice muffled by the cotton of his t-shirt. "And yes. She wants to be a marine biologist someday!"

"Huh. That seems like kind of a weird dream for a six year-old. When I was six I wanted to be, like, a firefighter. Or a dinosaur."

"Well _I _think it's cute," she tells him. "She's so committed, too! You should see her room – it's full of all sorts of stuffed sea creatures and posters of squids. Even her nightlight is shaped like a starfish."

"I think _you're_ cute."

"No, I really mean it, though!" Rachel says, pulling herself upright. "I see a lot of myself in Lily. She reminds me of me – when I was that age."

"You wanted to be a marine biologist?" Finn asks incredulously. "But aren't you like, afraid of goldfish?"

"I don't mean it like _that_," she amends. "It's just…Lily's got a lot of spunk, you know? She knows what she wants, and she's incredibly dedicated to making that happen. Even if it means the other kids call her chum bucket."

"That's not very nice."

"It's not easy out there for a six-year-old these days," Rachel tells him seriously. "Kindergarten? I mean, you might as well just toss those kids into a shark tank. No pun intended."

Finn raises his eyebrows dubiously.

"Okay," she relents with a giggle, "pun a little bit intended. Anyway, I told her she shouldn't worry about what the other kids say."

"You did?"

Rachel nods. "I did. I said, 'Lily, those other kids might call you names, but there is _nothing_ wrong with you. And you know what? Deep down inside, those other kids probably wish that they had a big dream like you did.'"

He doesn't say anything in reply – just looks at her with wide clear eyes, like she's hung the moon.

"What?" she asks, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

"Nothing," Finn says, pressing a kiss to her temple, "nothing at all. I just really, really love you."

"I love you too. _So _much."

It's at this point that Finn diverges from their usual route home, taking a left on Bramblewood Drive and pulling into the parking lot of the local Super Fresh without preamble.

"What are we doing?" Rachel demands, suddenly suspicious.

He can't help but be amused at the sharpness of her voice, suddenly indignant. "I thought maybe you'd be in the mood for a little….you know. _Afternoon delight_."

Her mouth falls open like a caricature. "Finn Christopher Hudson, I can't believe you'd have the audacity to even _suggest_ such a thing, and in broad daylight too! You know, my _dads_ shop here, do you really want them to wander innocently past your truck and find the two of us…_fornicating_ like some – "

"Relax, Rach," he says, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "I was _joking_. My mom just wanted me to pick up a gallon of milk on the way home. Is that alright with you?"

She pinks, worrying self-consciously with the hem of her sundress. "Of course! Do you mind if I wait in here, though? I've got paint all over me."

"I'll be quick," Finn promises, kissing her lightly on the nose.

And he's true to his word – emerging from the automatic doors less than five minutes later, though conspicuously sans milk. Instead, he's got a bouquet of roses clasped in his football-calloused hands, the stems wrapped in bright pink cellophane.

"For me?" Rachel asks shyly, accepting the flowers from his outstretched arms.

"No, for my _other_ girlfriend," he teases, sliding behind the steering wheel. "Of course for you!"

"But why?"

"I need a reason?"

She shrugs, burying her nose in the roses and breathing deeply.

"The truth is, Rach, I'd buy you flowers every day if I could. That's like, not really a reality as long as Burt insists on paying me minimum wage, but I want you to know that _I know_ you're the kind of girl you deserves a bouquet of roses for no reason at all. Because…you're so smart, and thoughtful, and nice all the time, and you don't ever ask for anything in return. You're _amazing_, Rachel, and Lily's lucky to have someone like you in her life to look up to."

"You really mean it?" Rachel asks with a water smiley, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.

"I really mean it," Finn affirms, brushing his thumb along her cheek. "And you know what else?"

"What?"

"You're gonna be a great mom someday."

Rachel lunges at him across the console so violently that for a moment Finn's convinced she's going to _hit_ him – she doesn't, of course, just kisses him so furiously he knocks his head against the window.

"Baby, I'm _so_ sorry!" she coos through a fit of giggles, rendering her apology somewhat disingenuous.

"Don't worry about it," he assures her, rubbing at the growing lump with the back of his hand. "Hey, Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course!" she nearly sings, brushing the hair from his eyes. "What is it?"

"What does bioluminescent mean?"


	4. the sea and the rhythm

**Author's Note: This was written speculatively pre-**_**The First Time**_**, so it strays a bit from canon!**

Finn's helping her memorize lines for _West Side Story_ when he makes the announcement.

"So…__," he blurts out suddenly (and miraculously) in a single breath.

"I'm sorry?" Rachel says, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her hair.

Finn clears his throat. "Um, I said, that Burt and my mom are going away next weekend. For their one-year anniversary. Camping."

"Oh, that's nice! I can't believe it's been a whole year already," she says with a smile. "Was there anything else?"

He looks panicked.

"Finn? Are you alright?"

"I just, um," he begins, voice tremulous, "I thought maybe we could, you know – I mean, since we've been talking about it lately, and stuff –but if you're not ready we totally don't have to, I mean, I'm not going to pressure you or anything, it's, um, up to you. And stuff."

She blushes as the realization hits her. "Oh! _Oh_. Right, of course that's what you meant, I'm can be so impossibly _dim_ sometimes, I'm sor – "

"Aw, c'mon, Rach. Don't worry about it," Finn tells her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know I'm not, like, the best with words, or anything."

Rachel fiddles absentmindedly with the hem of his sweater. "You underestimate yourself," she says.

They sit for a few moments in silence.

"Um, so does this mean you…don't want to, you know…?" Finn asks finally, voice betraying his nervousness.

"No!" she half-shouts and whirls around to face him, eyes blazing. "I mean – I _do _want to. I'm ready."

She leans in to kiss him, fingers curling gently around his wrist.

Rachel stops at his locker the next day during the five-minute interval between third and fourth period, heart pounding erratically in spite of the casual smile plastered on her face.

"Well, I've worked it all out with my dads!" she tells Finn. "As far as they know, I will be sleeping over at the Cohen-Chang residence on Saturday night."

He stuffs a handful of crumpled loose-leaf paper into his backpack, grinning at her. "Awesome!"

"It's a good thing I'm such a natural actress," Rachel remarks. "It comes in handy from to time."

Finn snorts, slamming his locker closed, but his expression grows suddenly serious. "Look, Rach, I just – I just want you to know that this means, like, a lot to me. And not just because I think you'll be good at sex…I mean, I _know_ you'll be good at sex, 'cause you're good at like, practically everything…but, anyway, I just really love you _so_ much. And I'm so excited to like, share this moment with you, you know?"

"I do know," Rachel sniffs, dimly aware that she can feel her eyes fill with moisture. "And I love _you_ so much."

"I hope you don't mind that I've, um, planned some stuff. For before. I just really want it to be special for you."

"It will be special for me no matter what, because I'll be doing it with _you_."

He leans over to kiss her nose chastely.

"I just hope my radiance isn't too much for you," Rachel teases, with a brazenness that surprises even her.

Finn picks her up early on Saturday morning, taking care to arrive while Leroy and Hiram are out on their ritual jog to defray suspicion.

"You look so pretty," he tells Rachel as she climbs into his truck, arranging her skirt carefully over crossed legs.

"Thank you, Finn," she says quietly, suddenly so overcome with nerves that the English muffin in her stomach threatens to evacuate via her esophagus. "You look very handsome yourself."

He hands her a single rose with its stem still wrapped in plastic. "This is for you," he says. "I wanted to get you a whole bouquet, but I couldn't afford it."

"One is more than enough," Rachel assures him, and she kisses his stubbly cheek. "So, where are we off to on this grand adventure?"

"I thought we could go to Baldwin Park, for a little picnic. Kurt helped me bake a vegan sweet potato soufflé. It's kind of, um, lumpy, but I think it'll taste alright."

She laughs into her hand. "I think it sounds _perfect_."

It's only mid-afternoon by the time they make it back to Finn's house, and Rachel feels herself grow suddenly anxious about the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Hummel-Hudson abode. For some reason, she'd always pictured being _intimate _as something that would happen in the security of darkness - it all seems somehow more _intimidating _in the light.

"Is everything okay?" Finn asks, the empty picnic basket slung over his shoulder.

She nods too vigorously. "Of course! Everything's okay! Better than okay!"

"You know, it's okay to be nervous," he says, offering her a half-smile. "I mean, I am, so."

Rachel stands up on her tiptoes to grip his face with both hands, kissing him with a desperation that almost embarrasses her.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Finn Hudson?" she asks.

"You've had me from day one, Rachel Berry," he tells her. "You didn't have to do a thing."

They hold hands as he leads her up the stairs to his bedroom, and Rachel feels his palm grow sweaty in her own.

Finn closes the door gently behind them, afraid to make noise even in an empty house.

"Did you do all this for me?" Rachel asks, awed, as she peers around at the myriad of candles on every available surface of his room.

"I thought it might help, um, set the mood? I made, like, a mix tape too– that might be totally weird and lame. We don't have to play it if you don't want."

"It's not weird _or_ lame, Finn," she assures him, taking a tentative step in his direction. "It's incredibly romantic."

"Really?" he asks, beaming. "'Cause, I mean, that's what I was going for. You deserve romance, Rachel – you're _amazing_. Like, the most amazing girl I've ever met."

He closes the distance between them, taking her into his arms, and she can hear his heart pounding unevenly through the thin fabric of his button-down.

Rachel pulls away, smiling coyly, and tugs him gently in the direction of his bed. Finn doesn't need to be asked twice.

He handles her delicately, though, as if he's afraid she might break – lowers her onto the mattress as gently as a doll, takes care that the buttons of her dress don't tangle in her hair when he pulls it over her head.

"Are those new?" Finn splutters breathlessly when he's got her undressed, suddenly distracted by a sheer layer of white lace.

Rachel blushes, nodding. "I bought them special," she tells him. "Now, in the interest in fairness – it seems as though I am rather more in a state of undress then yourself. We ought to rectify that."

He nods his assent, shucking his shirt and belt clumsily, but his hands shake so badly that he struggles with the button on his jeans.

"Here, let me help you," Rachel offers, taking over, and pulls his jeans slowly down to the floor. He kicks them into a ball before climbing onto the bed and pinning her with a kiss.

She groans softly into his mouth, hands curling automatically around his bedspread, when she suddenly freezes.

"Stop," Rachel orders, and he flinches away from her so quickly it's as if she's scalded him.

"What? What is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you alright? We don't have to do this, you know, if you've changed your mind! I won't be mad, I promise."

"Oh! No, no, no, it isn't that," she amends, "it's just – the cowboys are sort of creeping me out."

"The cowboys?"

"On your sheets," Rachel explains. "I don't know, it's like they're watching me or something! That's probably stupid. I'm being so stupid, aren't I?"

"You're never stupid, Rachel," he tells her, tossing the pillows from his bed onto the floor. "Is that better?"

"Much," she assures him, and pulls him down to the rug with her.

"Do you think you're, you know, _ready_…down there?" Finn asks between kisses, and she shakes her head softly.

"Not _quite _ yet."

He responds immediately, snaking a hand under the waistband of her panties and pushing a finger inside of her.

Her breath hitches and she moves against him almost unconsciously.

Finn uses his other hand to slide the strap of her bra down her shoulder, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts.

She arches her back when his teeth graze her nipple, heat rising to her cheeks.

"Okay," Rachel whispers, stilling his hand. "I think – I'm ready now."

Finn reaches under the bed in tacit agreement, retrieving an unopened box of condoms, and Rachel finds herself struggling to suppress a giggle.

She sits up, drawing her knees against her chest as he fiddles with the packaging. She curls a lock of hair around her finger – her idle, nervous hands in need of occupation.

"Can you help me with this?" he asks, blushing. "I was, um, sick that day that we put them on the bananas in health class."

"Of course," Rachel says as he wriggles out of his boxers and throws them onto the growing heap.

She rolls it on slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, and the latex is slick and unfamiliar beneath her fingers.

Wordlessly, he lowers Rachel's back onto the pillows, and she can't help but be reminded of that day in the auditorium more than two years ago, the stage lights hot against her face.

"I want you to know that I don't like, take this lightly, or anything," Finn says as he maneuvers himself into the correct position. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. Even more than football, and glee, and drums, and all those things combined."

"I love you too," Rachel manages, surprised to find that her throat is tight with unshed tears. "I love you so, so much."

He hooks his index finger around the waistband of her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he tugs them down the smooth expanse of her legs.

"This part might hurt a little, so I'll try and go as fast as possible," he says, reaching down between them to gently part her thighs. "Ready?"

She nods, guiding him into place, and he thrusts into her in one smooth motion.

At first, the pain is so intense she wants to cry out, but the look on Finn's face grounds her, and she only whimpers quietly into his mouth.

"Are you alright?" he pants, "Should I stop?"

"Just give me a minute," Rachel tells him, exhaling slowly, and she rocks slowly, experimentally against his hips.

"Okay. I'm good."

He thrusts carefully against her, and she runs her hands slowly up and down his back, her eyes squeezed shut, riding alternating waves of pain and pleasure. She kisses his chin, his eyes, the fuzz on his earlobe –she wants every inch of it to be hers, to touch every part of him.

Rachel feels the outlines of their bodies overlap, blur, and disappear.

In the end, she doesn't see stars or fireworks or a winged chorus of angels – but what she _does_ see is Finn, his eyes so wide and clear and _full_.

And Rachel thinks that's even better.


	5. how they shone

_how they shone_

Rachel isn't sure what time it is when she finally wakes, but instinct tells her _early_ – as does the bright sunlight streaming in through the big picture window, casting the Hummel-Hudson living room in an ethereal glow.

Finn snores quietly beside her, shattering a bit of the tranquility (though _adorably_ so).

Pivoting to face him, she's struck for a moment by how endearingly childlike he's rendered by sleep: hair mussed, cheek pillow-creased, thin line of drool drying on his chin. They _are_ growing up – she'd mean it when she told him that – but there's no denying that Finn has a lot of _boy_ left in him. (His cowboy-printed sheets will attest to that).

And Rachel, if she's being honest, is still several parts girl herself. _Perhaps a more worldly girl_, she qualifies, and the thought makes her giddy, _but a girl nonetheless_.

But that's what she'd told him last night, isn't it? _I'm just a girl, here with a boy she loves, and wanting to remember this moment for the rest of her life_.

(It's only in retrospect that she realizes she'd nearly poached the iconic line from _Notting Hill_.)

She's stirred from her thoughts when Finn grunts quietly, exhaling a small, warm breath against her ear.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she coos, nuzzling his stubbly chin with tip of her nose.

He quirks one tired eye open and tugs her against his chest, hands resting on her waist. "Five more minutes," Finn rasps against her neck, and Rachel giggles at the tickle of vibration.

"Five more minutes," she concedes.

She kisses him chastely on his chapped lips, painfully aware of her own morning breath.

It's not the only hygienic concern on Rachel's mind; every inch of her skin feels sticky with the residue of dried sweat (from the heat of the fire and, well, the heat of _Finn_). But she's in no rush to shower – on the contrary, she takes a sort of heady pride in the viscidity of her limbs, the dampness between her thighs.

In fact, were it not for her _remarkably_ high standards of cleanliness, Rachel would consider preserving forever her current state of semi-filth as a sentimental token, tangible evidence that last night was _real_ and not the product of some sugar-induced fever dream.

She props herself up on one elbow to get a better look at Finn, her lips twitching into a smile. Judging by the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, he's lapsed back into a deep sleep (despite his protestation of _only_ five more minutes).

Rachel runs her hand lightly over the smooth planes of his stomach. She doesn't have the heart to wake him, not _really_, not when he looks so adorably dopey with fatigue. (She wonders fleetingly if he's dreaming of _her_ and pinks at the thought).

All the same, she can't bring herself to stay still, propelled to motion by a sudden, restless energy. Rachel wriggles out of Finn's embrace with a careful finesse, trailing feather-light kisses along his forearm.

She resolves to make him a big breakfast, hoping that the smell of frying bacon (a sacrifice this vegan will make _only_ for him) will be a more welcome alarm clock than her own ministrations. And Rachel can't help but grin at the idea of this easy domesticity, her imagination wandering to a future scene, to a New York City apartment that's all their own.

She pads softly towards the kitchen, her bare feet quick and light on the chilly hardwood floor. Catching sight of herself in the hall mirror, Rachel pauses to examine her reflection. Smiling self-consciously, she tries to determine if she looks…_different_. Changed, somehow. Wiser. More mature. But other than the _dire_ state of her hair, the slight flush of her cheeks, and the small shiny, purple bruise at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, she looks remarkably the same.

But Rachel doesn't _feel_ the same – and it isn't just the tingling soreness she notices. She feels somehow more complete. Not as if she's _lost_ something, but gained…an entirely new dimension of feeling (and besides, she has a hunch that all that _losing_ nonsense was a concept invented by chauvinistic pigs, not sweet boys like Finn).

Smiling self-consciously into the glass, she resumes her intended course, worried that Finn might stir and discover her indulging in this moment of vanity – not that it would be _entirely_ uncharacteristic.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she reaches the Kitchen and finds _Kurt_ leaning against the counter, stirring his mug of chai tea and fixing her with a knowing luck. "So the lovebird has finally the left the nest, huh?"

"Kurt!" Rachel squeaks, hands flying to right the strap of her slip. "I was just – it's not what it looks – oh my _God_, I'm so humiliated I could cry. Let's make a solemn pact to never speak of this again?"

"Relax, Barbara," he deadpans, "before you combust with mortification, you might want to know that you weren't the only diva to have an _eventful_ night."

Her mouth falls open in a fine display of melodrama. "You're joking!" she squeals, dragging him towards the table by an elbow. "You _simply_ must tell me everything! On second thought, spare me the gory details, but don't you dare skimp on the romance!"

She grins as Kurt recounts the story, waiting patiently for the sound of Finn's footsteps behind them, for his tired, tender _hello_.


End file.
